


His Name Is Steve

by EndlessNepenthe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky would do anything for Steve, Gen, Precious Bucky Barnes, Precious Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and Steve would do anything for Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessNepenthe/pseuds/EndlessNepenthe
Summary: Steve stares at the dark handle of the knife. It didn’t look like Bucky was simply disarming himself.It looked like he wasarmingSteve.





	His Name Is Steve

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning to write only soft Tony and Peter interactions but Bucky is adorable and I couldn't resist

Bucky Barnes liked sleeping. It was the only real reprieve he ever really had from war, to just close his eyes and forget for a few hours, forget where he was and what he had to do and how he had to do it. He had always liked sleep, because it meant he would wake up stronger and more alert, and that would mean he could protect Steve better. Steve, the little stubborn kid he loves with his whole heart, the idiot who always thought only to stand up for others, even when he himself was small and frail. Steve, the only person Bucky had ever known with a heart bigger than the universe, the strongest fire of justice burning in his small chest, and the smallest sense of self preservation the world had ever seen. In summary, Steve was an idiot, but he was Bucky’s idiot, and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bucky Barnes liked sleeping. Until the Winter Soldier. Until the world moved on without him, relentlessly, years and years of time slipping between Bucky’s desperate fingers like the sand from an hourglass. Until sleep did not like him as much as it used to.

When Steve had found him, _saved_ him, Bucky obediently followed him, like a lost puppy. He had vowed to follow the little guy from Brooklyn, after all. Only he wasn’t so little anymore. But he’s still Steve, the same guy with an enormous heart, raging fire of justice, and no sense of self preservation.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t quite as pleased with the situation. He raged inside Bucky’s damaged mind, screaming and crying about disobedience and punishment, if HYDRA ever found them. And HYDRA will find them. HYDRA always found them. But Bucky furiously snarls _Shut up. This is my body, not yours._ and suppresses the Winter Soldier with all the fury and hate he had growing in him, ever since he had started being in the passenger’s seat. Bucky trusts Steve, who had resolutely promised with a firm and determined voice, that it was his turn to protect Bucky.

And Bucky knows, that Steve would protect him with his life. Something small inside of him laughs quietly and tells him to protect Steve right back, because someone needs to keep an eye on the little guy from Brooklyn who always throws himself headfirst into fights he shouldn’t.

So when Steve brings Bucky to an absolutely gorgeous work of technology in New York, calling it Stark’s tower, Bucky doesn’t balk. _Steve would do anything to keep you safe,_ he reminds himself, remembering how Steve had fought his own teammates for Bucky.

“Howard’s kid,” Bucky mumbles, eyeing the tower with his mouth open, “Is way smarter than his pops.”

“Tony,” Steve blurts, then blinks in shock, continuing in a lower voice, “His name’s Tony.”

“He should hate me. He has every right. I killed his parents. We-- I-- almost killed _him.”_

“Buck--”

“Do you two plan on loitering on my property all day,” a voice interrupts. “Not that I care, but you’ll attract media. Being on - y’know - Tony Stark’s lawn, and all.”

“Tony,” Steve blurts again, turning to the dark rich red and bright gleaming gold suit that hovers elegantly in the air.

“Woah,” Bucky gasps, eyes wide. It wasn’t his first time seeing one of Tony’s suits, but fighting for your life against one does not really give you the time to appreciate the majesty of it. Plus, this one looked to be new. “Hovering cars got nothing on this.”

Tony actually laughs at the remark, the sound short and surprised but genuine.

“You didn’t have to… come down here,” Steve says slowly, cautiously.

“Oh, I’m not,” the suit mask lifts, revealing an empty helmet that glows blue inside, “there.”

“...That’s so cool,” Bucky marvels.

“This is a great talk and all that, but I’ve got things to do.” The suit helmet seals shut again with a metallic sound.

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony talks right over him.

“Get up here before I change my mind,” Tony sighs. The suit raises a hand, pointing at Bucky, “And get some sleep. You look like a breeze could knock you over.”

Bucky and Steve only blink in shocked silence.

“Your room is beside Cap’s. Ask FRIDAY if you need anything,” Tony concludes, the suit flying away once he’s finished talking.

“Always knows how to make an entrance and exit,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Permission has been granted, I guess. Let’s go, Buck.”

Bucky follows closely behind Steve, posture defensive and eyes wary, metal hand clenched into a nervous fist. _Why would he let us into his home when we almost killed him?_ It didn’t make sense. So Bucky remained on high alert, even as his brain struggles to comprehend all the gloriously advanced technology humming around them.

Steve, however, doesn’t seem to share Bucky’s wariness. His posture is loose and casual, expression one of almost relief as he heads towards a row of gleaming silver doors. He doesn’t even falter at the row of metal detectors, confidently striding through. The alarm doesn’t go off. Bucky waits for the sirens to sound as he stumbles through a metal detector, urged onward by Steve. There is no way the alarm wouldn’t go off, his has a whole metal arm. An alarm goes off, but it’s a few steps away, at a different detector, and the person is immediately stopped by armed security.

Freezing in place, Bucky glances back at the metal detector he had just walked through, wondering if it was broken. It clearly isn’t, for it glows a cheerful green that should only be for when a person is clear.

A few meters away, Steve frowns at Bucky, eyes confused.

Pointedly, Bucky raises his left arm, wiggling the gloved fingers. Steve’s frown melts into a grin.

“My arm is still metal, last time I checked,” Bucky mumbles when he’s beside Steve again.

“Doesn’t matter here,” Steve whispers back. “Guess you’ve been cleared.”

There’s a relieved weight to Steve’s words, and Bucky decides not to question it. “...I’m surprised we have rooms,” he says instead.

“All the Avengers had floors of their own,” Steve replies, walking into an elevator.

Bucky pauses outside, hesitating.

“It’s okay,” Steve reassures.

Bucky blinks, pushes down the question lingering on the tip of his tongue - _You said had. Why do I feel like you still do?_ \- and steps into the elevator.

There are no buttons anywhere in the elevator, but it automatically begins moving. Steve casually leans against one metal wall, expression unreadable.

“...I think,” Bucky says, startling both Steve and himself, “I think… he--Tony-- ...is much kinder than you all believe.” It hurts, just to say his name, and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to voice it louder than a hushed whisper. But Bucky wanted to make sure Steve understood exactly who he was talking about.

A muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw. “You haven’t even met him.”

“I don’t need to meet him to know that he still has those floors for all the Avengers. I don’t need to meet him to know he’s trying to protect his Steve,” Bucky smiles sadly at the floor of the elevator, “and that he has too many Steves.”

Steve inhales a sharp breath, and Bucky knows that his last line hit hard.

“We’re all trying to protect someone, Buck. It doesn’t always justify the things we do.”

Bucky remains silent, not mentioning that Steve had clearly included himself in that “we.” An uneasy, tense silence settles, only broken by Bucky’s small wondering gasp when Steve leads him past a door adorned with a miniature replica of Captain America’s shield, pausing in front of the door embossed with a tiny, delicately detailed metal arm with a star on the shoulder.

Steve has a small smile on his face as he watches Bucky hesitantly enter the room.

Bucky’s eyes wander around the room, both in awe of the simplistic but beautifully cohesive design and carefully memorizing the details of the open space, a habit he had developed from life as an assassin. He takes note of how the frame of the large bed does not have any space under it for hiding, and how close it is to a corner of a room - he can hide near the wall behind the bed, if he needed to, since the bed would conveniently hide anyone from view of the doorway. There are several plush couches littering the room, and he doesn’t miss the fact that they’re all large enough to potentially hide a person behind if they crouched down. The bedside cabinet drawers are empty save for a box of tissues in the first one, two unopened bottles of water and a clean empty mug sitting on top. Belatedly, Bucky notices that Steve is still standing next to the door, simply observing with an amused expression as Bucky thoroughly explores the room.

Systemically, Bucky checks every door: the washroom is full of gleaming cream coloured tiles and golden taps, stocked with all the necessities (Bucky is mildly impressed that Tony seemed to have gone so far as to even have replacement toothbrushes available, and multiple different flavours of toothpaste); the huge walk in closet is mostly empty, with only a few articles of black clothing sitting on a shelf (Bucky has an urge to put on the leather jacket he sees); and the last door opens up to what looks to be Steve’s room, which Bucky knows hasn’t been occupied in a while, but is still somehow free of any dust.

He lingers, trying to take advantage of Steve leaving him to explore instead of pressuring him to sleep. Bucky knows that Steve needs to rest; he knows he needs to too. Being on the run didn’t give them much time to rest, since they had to be on high alert all the time, taking power naps whenever they could to ensure their bodies wouldn’t give up on them. Or in Bucky’s case, avoiding sleep and passing out for a few short hours whenever his body couldn’t handle the strain of staying awake any longer. They’re finally in a safe place - no one in their right mind would dare attack Tony Stark for no reason, and it was the last place anyone would expect Captain America to be, after his strong disagreement with Tony - and they could finally let their guard down. But sleep is the last thing Bucky wants to do.

Bucky hates sleeping. It reminds him of being HYDRA’s mindless killing machine, trapped in his own mind, unable to command his actions. Instead, he exercises impressive willpower, pushing his exhausted body forward until it gives up on him. He’d been surprisingly lucky so far, and the few hours of sleep he was forced to take every once in a long while had been mercifully empty. But he knows it won’t last. Even awake, his mind periodically trapped him in horrific memories: sticky crimson blood coating his hands, still warm from a rapidly cooling body; desperate, dying gasps and weak scrabbling hands against his metal arm; horrified wide eyes asking him _why_ as the light fades from them; his own desperation to hold onto details he’d struggled so hard to remember, only to have them torn from his mind; his defiant struggles to free himself, met with remorseless punishment and brutal reminders that he was a chained dog. He knows, any efforts to sleep, will be anything but peaceful.

But Bucky could never really deny Steve.

“Buck?”

He turns.

“Sleep?” Steve’s voice is soft and full of hope, wide eyes silently pleading. He’d moved an armchair close to the bed, and stands next to it.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky resigns himself. He’ll do it, for Steve. For Steve, he’d drag himself through hell and back.

Bucky slowly approaches Steve, lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulders, as if he was trying to make himself smaller, less of a threat. With practiced fluidity, he reaches to his waist and yanks out the only knife he had left, expertly flipping it in his hand until he is gripping the cold blade between his gloved fingers.

He holds it out.

Steve stares at the dark handle of the knife. It didn’t look like Bucky was simply disarming himself.

It looked like he was _arming_ Steve.

Bucky doesn’t move, knife still extended, so Steve slowly grasps the handle, and Bucky immediately draws his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Okay, I’ll hold onto this for a while. I won’t let anything hurt you,” Steve murmurs, hesitant and quiet.

When Bucky looks up for a quick, fleeting moment at Steve’s words, there’s a blank submissiveness to his eyes. He blinks, and it’s replaced by a flash of confusion, realization, and then regret. Before Steve can say anything, sorrowful acceptance settles in Bucky’s expression, his head ducking in a brief, hesitant nod.

Clearly reluctant, Bucky stumbles to the bed, shedding his tight jacket along the way and kicking off his boots with smooth, habit enforced movements. Carefully, he sets his jacket on the bed, pulling his gloves off with his teeth, then nervously sliding under the pristine covers.

Instantly, Bucky dislikes the bed. It’s too big, too soft. Maybe he’s too used to sleeping in uncomfortable positions and places, usually somewhere solid and hard, to prevent him from sleeping too deeply and becoming unaware. The sheets are warm but not too thick, thin enough to be breathable and cool against the skin of his bare arm. Bucky knows, if he were any other person, the glorious marshmallow of a mattress would have him wanting to sleep for days on end. He’s puzzled by Tony’s gracious hospitality; why do people see him as such a heartless, selfish person when he clearly goes to great lengths for people? Suddenly, Bucky wants nothing more than to separate himself from the bed - it’s so comfortable that it’s becoming unsettling - but he knows Steve is watching with that ridiculously hopeful expression, so he resolutely closes his eyes and surrenders to the darkness that gleefully swallows him.

Relieved, Steve leans back against the armchair. He understood why Bucky was so adamant, but he can’t avoid sleep forever. Nightmares and Post Traumatic Stress are both extremely formidable opponents and infinitely complex, but Steve prayed that he would be able to provide some degree of comfort or even - if he dared to be so confident - be the one to ward them off.

Steve tries his best to remain awake and alert, but the armchair was just so incredibly soft and with Bucky’s deep, even breathing, Steve finds himself dozing fitfully. Peacefully, he drifts, floating on the sea of consciousness, occasional waves washing over him and threatening to pull Steve down into the bottomless dark of unconsciousness. Steve’s mind is only aware enough to keep his face above the water that greedily envelopes his body, relentlessly attempting to drag him under. The little part of Steve that is still clinging to consciousness focuses on Bucky, painstakingly monitoring him with all of Steve’s serum enhanced senses except sight.

When Bucky’s breathing speeds up, Steve yanks himself out of the water so fiercely, his body instinctively bolts halfway upright in panic before he forces himself to sit back down.

Bucky’s breaths are hard and fast, desperate and full of fear. His whole body tenses, hands balling into fists under the sheets, taunt cords of his neck standing out as he strains against invisible restraints.

Torn, Steve flexes his fingers, reaching out and then pulling back before he makes contact, unsure if he should be attempting to touch Bucky. He settles for just talking, hoping to reassure Bucky with his voice. “Buck? Don’t worry, I’m here. It’s me, Steve. Steve’s here. You’re safe.”

“Steve?” Bucky whispers, and Steve’s heart leaps.

_That wasn’t so bad._

But when Steve eagerly searches for Bucky’s eyes, he doesn’t see the gorgeous blue-green-and-grey irises that never fail to remind Steve of an ocean after a storm, liquid and shifting, never settling for long.

“Steve?” Bucky breathes again, voice small and absolutely terrified.

“Yeah, I’m here. Steve’s here. You’re safe, I’m safe, please wake up.”

Bucky’s head shifts on the pillow, tossing around as if he was surrounded by enemies and was trying to keep track of them all. “No… Stop. Don’t! Go away. Please,” he pleads, “Please don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” His voice steadily rises, bordering on hysterical, as he desperately begs and apologizes.

“Bucky! Wake up, please wake up, it’s just a nightmare, wake up, please.” Against his better judgement, Steve reaches out, brushing the back of his hand lightly against Bucky’s cheek.

Flinching violently away from Steve’s touch, Bucky whimpers softly. “I’m sorry. Please stop. I can’t forget, please! Please don’t make me forget. Steve,” Bucky cries, “Steve. His name is Steve. I have to remember. His name is Steve.” He trails off, mumbling broken syllables of Russian and Steve’s name.

Steve sits on his hands to prevent himself from reaching out to Bucky again, leaning forward and talking louder to be heard. “Wake up, Bucky! Wake up, please. It’s not real! I’m here!”

Bucky freezes, perfectly still and silent for a second, before he screams.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, curling in on himself, “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

At first, Bucky screams Steve’s name. Steve flinches every single time, frantically repeating Bucky’s name and _Please wake up,_ as if he could speak it into existence. When Bucky stops screaming Steve’s name and only screams, voice cracking and breaking, Steve wants nothing more than for the heartbreaking sound to stop. Bucky breaks off with a relieved whimper, the sound mangled by his raw throat, and for a second, hope burns bright in Steve’s chest. But Bucky begins screaming again, loud and pained, and Steve’s frantic mind finally remembers that he’s in the house of a genius billionaire with an all knowing AI.

Mentally kicking himself, Steve is frantically trying to put a coherent question together when the temperature in the room suddenly drops. The once warm and inviting air that felt like summer sunshine contained in a room is suddenly not quite so friendly towards thin t shirts and bare arms. His first reaction is pure confusion, mind searching for a reason why such a thing might happen. “It’s...Cold,” he mutters to himself, eyes instinctively rising to the ceiling, searching for the vent he knows is the cause.

And then he notices that it’s quiet.

The temperature of the room suddenly doesn’t matter at all. The hope that had been extinguished reignites, burning brighter than before.

Bucky shifts restlessly, pushing his face against the fluffy pillow. Unlike Steve, who is mildly uncomfortable with the cold, Bucky relaxes, seeming to be more at peace with the lower temperature. He sighs, a soft airy sound, eyelashes fluttering once before they’re still. This time, Steve is perfectly fine with not seeing a hint of Bucky’s eyes.

“...FRIDAY?” Steve keeps his voice low, remembering the blanket he saw draped over a couch nearby. Unwilling to leave Bucky’s side for too long, he rushes to grab the blanket, sliding it over his shoulders like a cape and hurrying back.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” The voice is equally as hushed as Steve’s own.

“...Did it just get colder in here?”

“Yes,” FRIDAY confirms, “Boss suggested that it would help put Mr. Barnes at ease. It seems to be successful.”

Steve frowns as he mulls over the new information, eyes following the curve of Bucky’s thick lashes. “Tony told you to?”

“Precisely.”

_I think Tony is much kinder than you all believe._

“...Tony...Stark…”

For a moment, Steve doesn’t react.

_...Am I hearing things?_

He couldn’t be imagining it. Bucky had said Tony’s name. There is no way Steve would mistake the unique timbre of Bucky’s voice, even if it was this quiet, a whisper of breath, barely caught by Steve’s enhanced hearing over the deep hum of power in the tower. There is no way Steve would mistake Tony Stark’s name for anything else.

Steve finds himself realizing that Tony meant much more to Bucky than he thought. It’s ridiculous, really. Bucky hasn’t even met the man properly in person, hasn’t even had a real conversation with him, but somehow, Tony Stark had settled in Bucky’s heart. Maybe it was because Bucky always had great interest in technology and Tony invented things as often as people would eat meals. Maybe it was something deeper than that. But Steve will never know what it is.

And Steve can’t help but wonder how well Bucky and Tony would’ve gotten along if the Winter Soldier hadn’t killed Tony’s parents.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, sleeping peacefully, and soon, so is Steve.


End file.
